The Past Never Dies Quietly
by Didi
Summary: Tasha takes steps to confirm a rumor. *Can you believe it??? An update... WOW!!!*
1. Prologue

The Past Never Dies Quietly  
  
By Didi  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters and don't know anyone that does. Suing me will probably get you the 38 cents in my pocket now and nothing more than that.  
  
Summary: Tasha takes steps to confirm a rumor.  
  
Acknowledgement: This story is written following a conversation with Wizard13. Thanks kid for the inspiration. I hope you enjoy this story as I try to write it. No nagging e-mails though.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Prologue  
  
The light could barely be registered under the thick oak door. The inch and a half of solid wood was strong enough to stop a bullet at close range. Perhaps the steel frame over the edge of the sides were overkill but it didn't seem to matter to the woman that occupied the small, slightly stifling apartment that dwell in the sublevel of the six story apartment building in the heart of Beverly Hills. No one would have thought that anyone would choose to live below ground level in a city where the view from one's living room equivocate the worth of the property. But not everyone has lived a life as complicated as this particular woman.  
  
The apartment was spuriously decorated, with hardly any mementos to personalize the living space. In fact the only visible signs of the place being inhabited was the three photos that decorated the a bookshelf filled with what appeared to be military training manuals and old classics that most high school students dread to read. And of course the magnificent collection of guns, knives and assortment of deadly weapons of war that lined the wall generously. The ruffled edges of the soft beige bed should have looked out of place in this otherwise masculine décor, but seemed to fit itself in nicely.  
  
Oh and of course there was the ringing telephone hung over the breakfast nook. How many people knew this particular number? Let's just say one can count off the number on the fingers of a hand with two missing digits. After seven rings, the sophisticated answering machines that screen calls, scrambled caller IDs and misdirect phone traces picked up with simply a beep.  
  
"Tasha? It's David. If you're there and screening your call for no apparent reason, pick up the phone, this is important. If not, I'll be at the El Captain at midnight tonight. I need to talk to you; it's about your ex-husband number one and three. Show up alone as always. If I don't see you at midnight, I'll assume you don't want to know and drop this. Until then."  
  
The click indicated the line going dead, then the apartment was once again silent. 


	2. Chapter 1

The Past Never Dies Quietly  
  
By Didi  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters and don't know anyone that does. Suing me will probably get you the 38 cents in my pocket now and nothing more than that.  
  
Summary: Tasha takes steps to confirm a rumor.  
  
Acknowledgement: This story is written following a conversation with Wizard13. Thanks kid for the inspiration. I hope you enjoy this story as I try to write it. No nagging e-mails though.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Chapter 1  
  
The El Captain was an old theatre that has long since lost its glamour and glitz. Yet seeing the crowd would have to wonder what it was about the old place that still attracted the young and old alike.  
  
The midnight showing of the old 80's movie "The Goonies" had just begun to be seated when Tasha Daxter showed up at the theatre that was jammed packed with teenagers, even on a weekday.  
  
To the rest of the world, Tasha was just a beautiful woman with hair the color of finely aged sherry and dark Italian eyes that have been known to make men beg. She was tall, reaching well beyond the height of most average women at a statuesque five feet eleven inches. Her ever-confident bearing, added to her exotic beauty, drew more attention than the former CIA operative would have liked.  
  
Stepping just inside the main entrance after paying for her ticket, Tasha automatically scanned the room for possible dangers before spotting her quarry standing by a life size poster of "Rollerball." Ignoring the ridiculous catcalls from some of the immature, hormonally driven teenage boys, she studied the man that made the artificially airbrushed, buffed-up poster look pathetically weak.  
  
David Edward Galoostian was a handsome man with his blond hair and blue eyes, the very picture of the All-American good old boy in his prime. Tall, even taller than Tasha, at an impressive six feet one, he was built like an Olympic gymnast with wide powerful shoulders and narrow hips. All in all, he was the kind of man to inspire dreams in most women.  
  
But then, most women were never married to the current director of the Central Intelligence Agency's special task force. Most women didn't have to deal with the crazy long hours, the dangerous missions, the jealous fits and the habitual pulling of rank when she went into dangerous missions.  
  
David straightened from his oh-so causal stand as Tasha neared, smirk lighting onto his face at the obvious irritation on hers. "How are you doing, Tash?"  
  
"Cut the crap David," she muttered darkly, giving the nearby prying ears a good frown. "What do you want?"  
  
He smiled, not in the least bit offended by her lack of greeting. "That's what I always loved about you Tash, you were never one to stand on formality or civility."  
  
If looks could kill…  
  
"All right," he held up a hand in truce. "Let's take a walk." Motioning for her to follow him.  
  
"Where to?" she asked as they began to move along through the red carpeted area. "We're in a movie theatre for god sakes."  
  
"We're going to behave like civilized people and watch a movie," he replied patiently as he guided her by the elbow into the semi crowded theater where "The Goonies" were being shown.  
  
"David," throwing him a look that warned him of her impending anger. "If this is some kind of…?"  
  
"Do you remember when we first saw this movie together?"  
  
"David…" the warning was there even as she allowed him to guide her into a seat toward the back of the theater.  
  
"You must have been all of eighteen, just out of high school and on your way to Duke University I think."  
  
"Please do not tell me that you got me out here to go down memory lane with you?:" She glanced at the crowded place and wonder where people got the time to do these leisurely things.  
  
"All right, all right," he sighed and leaned back in his chair to give a pair of young teens a glare to stay away. "Since you are here, I take it you got my message?"  
  
"Obviously," looking at him with cautious eyes. "How did you get that number anyways? It's classified."  
  
"Connections within," he replied causally. "Took a few favors though."  
  
"I would hope so," she muttered just loud enough for him to hear. "What's this about Peter?"  
  
"Peter?" He raised a brow in inquiry.  
  
Tasha sighed. "The Owl."  
  
"Oh," he nodded his head slowly with great appreciation, "so that's his name."  
  
The impatience was beginning to strain Tasha's face. "David, will you please just get on with this?"  
  
He nodded his blond head and tilted it toward her. "What have you heard of the Stoboiskys?"  
  
Her finely sculptured brows came down in concentration. Tasha was never more beautiful then when she was intent on something. "Russian mobsters that pretty much ran St. Petersburg's after the Cold War. Connections high up before that and still controls what's left of the running government now."  
  
David nodded his head waited until the lights were dimming before speaking again. "Head of the family is Nikolas Stoboisky, 34 years old today. Has a sister name Natasha who ran off with Pietro Rumduska three weeks ago."  
  
She frowned at him. "What does all this have to do with…"  
  
"Patience darling," he grinned, flashing perfectly even white teeth at her. "Natasha not only ran off, she took half the family jewels with her. Including and not excluding some very incriminating documents that linked the Stoboiskys to the murder to several CIA undercover operatives during the whole Operation Stalingrad incident."  
  
"If we know they did it then…"  
  
"No proof, Tasha." David smiled indulgently at her. "You should know by now what proofing something means."  
  
She gave him a humorless smile. "And this has to something to do with the Owl how?"  
  
The look he gave her made the hair on the back of her neck stand up on ends. "Your twice divorced husband was called in to retrieve the papers and to eliminate the Stoboisky traitor." He grew serious. "Six days ago, there were rumors that Natasha Stoboisky left Moscow with her lover and the Owl had been taken out of the picture."  
  
Tasha didn't even blink. "What does that mean?"  
  
"There was a massive explosion in one of the old industrial complexes just south of the city. The Owl was seen in that area not too long before the explosion. Intelligence thinks that it was a trap sent by Natasha Stoboisky for the Owl."  
  
Her face remained expressionless due to the massive amount of training during her operative days. But her eyes flashed a moment with fear, a moment that David did not miss. "Confirmation?"  
  
"No body if that is what you're asking," he replied with a sigh. "The complex went up in smokes along with any evidence as to who started it and if any one was inside of it when it went."  
  
"So no confirmation at all that he's gone?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
There was along silence before Tasha got up slowly. "Thank you for telling me."  
  
"Sit down Daxter, I'm not done yet." He tugged on her arm firmly but gently. She was as stiff as s board as she took her sat once more. "For the past six days, a joint FBI and CIA task force has been trying to confirm the present status of the Owl."  
  
"Why?" she asked, completely devoid of all emotions. "I would think that the agencies would be more than happy to see the Owl out of their hairs."  
  
"He hasn't commented any crimes that we can link to him completely therefore…"  
  
"He is still considered a assist due to his past usefulness to the United States' military," she finished dryly.  
  
"And long and short of it is, yes."  
  
She nodded her head once more. "Anything else?"  
  
David would have sorely loved to be able to shake her out of this cold-heartless façade she appeared to have put up. "Yes, actually."  
  
"What is it?"  
  
"The CIA would like to bring you in on a temporary mission."  
  
That certainly got her attention. "Excuse me?"  
  
"We'd like you to find the Owl for us."  
  
Her brows rose. "And if I do find him?"  
  
David held up his head in appeasement, the corner if his lips curled slightly. "We simply want an update on his current status."  
  
"You want me to find out whether he is dead or not?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"And not bring him in if he is fortunately enough to be still with the living?"  
  
"Only if he wishes to come in on his own accord."  
  
For a moment, she looked almost amused. "And how did you get the brass to agree to that little plan?"  
  
He gave her fond smile. "They saw the wisdom in that particular plan."  
  
Tasha hesitated a moment. "David, did you…"  
  
"What is good for the county isn't always bad for us all." He replied.  
  
She smiled genuinely for the first time. "Thank you."  
  
Feigning ignorance he asked, "What for?"  
  
"For everything," she bent and kissed him on the cheek before getting up again.  
  
He reached for her hand, "Tasha?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"Why did you divorce him and marry me?"  
  
She didn't answer. Pulling her hand free, she walked away.  
  
He watched her until she disappeared through the entrance of the theatre feeling a little hurt and a little resigned. It was a little later that he realized that he was glad she hadn't answered him. He didn't think his ego could take that kind of abuse. 


	3. Chapter 2

The Past Never Dies Quietly  
  
By Didi  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters and don't know anyone that does. Suing me will probably get you the 38 cents in my pocket now and nothing more than that.  
  
Summary: Tasha takes steps to confirm a rumor.  
  
Note: Okay, I knew that it was a bad idea to start a new fan fiction when there are other ones that I haven't finished yet. Can't devote enough time to any one exclusively. (sigh)  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Chapter Two  
  
Distractions are the way of normal life, but for those whose lives are not what the average citizen would call normal, distractions could be killers. So it was with great apprehension that Quick Williams approached a very distracted Tasha as she sat staring out the window of the V.I.P. main office.  
  
"Tasha?"  
  
When there was no answer, Quick frowned. There was definitely something wrong when Tasha was so out of it that she could ignore or simply not hear her name being called.  
  
"TASHA!"  
  
Hair swung as her head snapped toward him, eyes still far away seeing some unknown memory deep within the recesses of her mind. "What is it?"  
  
"I think I should be the one to ask that," Quick asked of his friend. He had spent most of the morning watching her completely not her usual alert self. She even allowed one of Val's usual chirpy morning greeting go by without so much as a rolling of the eyes. "What's up?"  
  
She forced herself to lie through her teeth. "Nothing. I'm not liking the prospect of this new job we took."  
  
A quicksilver grin came and went. "When have you ever liked anything Val picked? But that's hardly something that would put you in such a funk and we both know it. What is really going on?"  
  
Perhaps had it been anyone else, Tasha would have merely snapped an answer and walked away. But this was Quick, her friend and often confessor. "I've got a problem that may turn out to be more trouble than I'm willing to put up with."  
  
Years ago, Quick had decided that he would never ever under any circumstances try to dig into the darkly shrouded past that Tasha would never talk of. It was perhaps that he too had secrets in his past that he would not care for his friends to know that of that merely accepted Tasha as she was. "Whatever it is, I've got your back on it."  
  
"Thanks," and she meant it. "But this is something I doubt you're going to be able to help me with."  
  
"Nothing is so bad that your friends can't help you deal with," Quick pointed out quietly.  
  
"In this case, I'm afraid that it is," she patted his hand in thanks. "I'll let you know if there is anything that I may…"  
  
"TASHA!" Kay Simmons had a loud ear grating voice when she was either irritated or surprised, something Tasha had long since learned.  
  
With a sigh and a resigned look for Quick, Tasha stood up to intercept the company tech specialist as the petite blonde woman was practically skipping over to them with a large box in her hands.  
  
"This just came for you," she handed over the box but wore the most curious expression on her face, eagerly awaiting the opening of the mysterious package. Tasha did not usually get parcels, heck she hardly ever got mail at the office. And as far as Kay knew, Tasha didn't have any family or friends outside the V.I.P crew. "What is it?"  
  
Tasha glanced down at the large white label with her name and the office address on it written by a thick black marker in bold solid block letters. *David.* She could only guess that kind of equipment her ex- husband has decided to provide for her and the kind of reaction she was likely to get from her co-workers. "Nothing, just some tapes on American military history," the reply came easily from her lips.  
  
"How boring is that!" Kay muttered and left.  
  
"If that's tapes of any kind of any kind of history," Quick said quietly as he watched Tasha's troubled face, "I'll eat my brand new Armani suit covered in ketchup."  
  
She grinned. "That's almost worth opening this box in front of you."  
  
Dark eyes went serious. "Tasha, we're here if you need any kind of…"  
  
"I'll ask if I need any help," Tasha replied before picking up the box and her coat. "Listen, I need some time off. You think you can keep Val from totally humiliating us in front of our clients while I'm gone."  
  
"I think I can do that," Quick smiled quietly. "It's a babysitting job with a few fringe benefits and no real risk. I'm more worried about the fact that you appear to be taking some vacation time."  
  
"I am," she shook her head. "I need to do something that I don't want V.I.P. dragged into it."  
  
"Danger has never stopped us from jumping in where we may be belong."  
  
"Yeah, but this is personal and I want to handle this alone," she purposely left out the part where she'd be working temporarily for the CIA once more. That last thing she needed was for her friends to dig into the missions that she's been in over the past decade. "I'll call once I've returned."  
  
Quick didn't like this, didn't like it one bit. "And if you don't?"  
  
"Then I'm dead and someone will be around to inform you of it," she replied and pushed open the door with the small of her back against the handle. "Don't worry, I'll be careful."  
  
"You better be," Quick said to the closing door. He sat there with his back against the conference table.  
  
"Hey, Quick," Johnny called out as he stepped in. "Want to go a couple of rounds with me on the floor mat?"  
  
Thinking that some physical exertion may help to clear some of the unease he was beginning to feel for Tasha. "Sure, sounds good."  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Two handguns with extra clips, four gas grenades, two gas mask, two hands free wireless two-way radios, one tracking device with all the works, two audio bugs, a Russian-English dictionary, her old CIA credentials, and a pair of pink fuzzy dice. Tasha almost allowed herself a grin as she picked up the fuzzy dices again. It was a small reminder of her past with David. *I had wondered if you still remember that pair you won for me at the carnival all those years ago?*  
  
Picking up her custom made suitcase with its hidden compartments, she began to load her arsenal of weapons. While she didn't plan on charging into Russian with guns a blazing, she certainly was going to go in there armed to the teeth and prepared for anything. It's been years since her days as a double agent with the KGB but she still remembered enough to know that in that country, one has to sleep with one eye open.  
  
After the weapons came her array of clothes. On top of her usual dark clothes, used for maximum camouflage, she packed several extra thick sweaters and a long coat that will no doubt come in handy. With those, she added the other little necessities of life, including a variety of poison antidotes, first-aid materials, and toothpaste.  
  
Shutting the suitcase and picking up her small travel bag, she paused in the living room staring at her bookshelf. The three photos sitting there were her own way of reminding herself not to make the same mistake three…four times in a roll. Four marriages, three wedding portraits, four divorces and three ex-husbands, that was enough for four lifetimes. Picking up the first portrait, she touched the face of the man she had married at such a young and naïve age.  
  
He had been a handsome man. Those steely gray eyes were what attracted her and kept her coming back for more. Over the years, the face has changed but those eyes… Opening the back of the frame, Tasha pulled out the most recent of Peter's pictures. She gets rather regular updates of his plastic surgeon's work. Until that moment, she always wondered why he did such a thing. But now she was glad she at least has some idea of who she should be keeping an eye out for. She could only hope he hasn't done any more 'remodeling' since the last time he's come to see her.  
  
Slipping the small photo into her purse, Tasha picked up her suitcase and opened the door to her apartment, pausing a moment to remind herself of all the reasons she was doing this. But none of them were good enough except for the first one. Cause he was Peter and she needed to know. Shutting the door, she pocketed the key and hoped that she'd get to come back. 


	4. Chapter 3

The Past Never Dies Quietly  
  
By Didi  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters and don't know anyone that does. Suing me will probably get you the 38 cents in my pocket now and nothing more than that.  
  
Summary: Tasha takes steps to confirm a rumor.  
  
Note: Okay, I knew that it was a bad idea to start a new fan fiction when there are other ones that I haven't finished yet. Can't devote enough time to any one exclusively. (sigh)  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Chapter Three  
  
The Russian winter can probably be easily described by one phrase: freezing your ass off cold, and that would be only during the milder phases of the season. If you were outdoors without at least four layers of clothes on, you would be considered completely insane and possibly jailed in a cold cell somewhere for your own good.  
  
Tasha was sure had Val been around, she would be walking around in her pink snow bunny outfit that attracting enough attention to get herself killed. But while Tasha didn't flaunt beauty with flashy clothes, she certainly didn't take any extra effort to dress as anything other than herself. The gray sweater over white turtleneck was functional but attractive; the long black coat was stylish but also concealed the array of weaponry she had chosen to carry with her as she made her way out of Moscow in the little car she had rented.  
  
The puttering of the old rental made her wish that Nikki was there to rip out the engine and rework it into something more…. Something that no longer gave her the feeling that it was going to die on her any second as she drove the eight miles to the old industrial zone.  
  
The town of Stolanki was one that has long sense seen its glory days. During the time of U.S.S.R., it had been a place where the large steel mills had operated due to the open area and the working mills for hydro- energy. Back then, Stolanki supplied Moscow with all the power and cold war machinery it needed. Now, it's just a broken old town, with death and ghosts of a glory long passed hanging in every shadow.  
  
The fire must have been intense. The paint had been melted off the billboards a mile from the actual site. All along the road, death reeked in the worse possible ways with dying trees and iced over bits of smothered grass. Even now, after nearly a full month since the blaze, the area still smelled of smoke and ash.  
  
Climbing from the car, Tasha schooled her unreadable features as she pulled her coat closer. It could be her imagination but it suddenly felt as if the temperature dropped by ten degrees. Picking her ways slowly through where the fire trucks no doubt was parked and stayed through most of the night, she noted the scorched marks that lined the upper walls of the three story building that was once one of the many large monuments to Russia's break into the industrialized nations' arms race.  
  
Her eyes watered as the acidic air hit her full in the face as she cross the threshold of the building's corpse. She knew the dangers of entering such a death trap as she picked her way through the rubbles, hoping beyond hope for anything that could give her a clue as to what actually happened. But all signs so far has pointed to the fact that anyone in this building when it ignited must have either suffocated or died in the initial burst of heat so intense as to melt the flesh from the bones.  
  
A flash of terrifying possibilities crossed her mind as images of a burning body invaded her thoughts. Clamping down the sudden rational fear, she forced herself to concentrate on the mission. *Just don't think of him as anything other than a target you have to identify and locate. That's all he is to you. A target.*  
  
The lie stayed in place for all of ten seconds before she is scrambling around, looking for any possible exits that could have existed, giving him a chance, just a slight chance of getting out alive. *God, please just give me something, anything!*  
  
Choking on the flying ash and dust, she stopped and moved away from the wreck. Taking in deep breath and trying to calm her racing heart, she braced herself. *Rational, Tasha. Think rationally like an agent and not like some love-sick girl trying to find her boyfriend!* She checked herself. *Trying to find her husband.*  
  
Taking in another deep breath, she began to take in the scene before her with a clearer mind. *Look for all the possibilities. Don't dismiss anything out of hand. Give impossible scenarios and make them work.*  
  
*The only way one can escape an inferno of this magnitude was to get to where the smoke and heat would be the least dangerous.* She nodded as she thought it over. The lowest area first floor unless…. She began to kick the debris away. *Unless there was a basement or underground…. Yes. This was a Russia industrial base, they would have contingency plans for escape routes.*  
  
It took three hours of meticulously searching every area on the first place, but in the end, it all paid off beautifully. Using the edge of her stainless still switch blade that she has habitually kept in her boots, she lifted the edge of the trap door, careful not to disturb too much of the ash and caked soot that covered the area. Just under six feet high and a little more than three feet wide, it was a small but useful tunnel.  
  
Tasha hesitated for a moment before dropping into the dark space that possibly once harbored Nazi criminals, or maybe it was Jewish escapees. The mini mag-lite did little to illuminate the place but was adequate for her purposes.  
  
The heavy stanch made her eyes water painfully and she could only pray that that this was not to be a long passage. After ten minutes of carefully picking her way through the channel, the air suddenly became clearer, fresher, as if…. As if the great open air merely around the corner.  
  
Feeling the walls with her hand, she found the corner not three steps later and the end of the tunnel that led to the back woods behind the great complex.  
  
*Peter, you lucky son of a bitch!* The exhilaration left her breathless. If she could find this hole in the ground, than so could that sly ex- husband of hers. There was no doubt in her mind that the Owl was the resourcefulness under pressure to look for something so obvious. *The man should have been code named the Cat. He's got more lives that I can keep track of.*  
  
Returning from the topside, Tasha was careful to cover her tracks, making sure nothing looked obviously disturbed by human hands. She must not forget that there are still those out there that would pay a hefty price to get their hands on The Owl. With the rumors of his death still standing solid and her being the only one that suspected anything otherwise… There's still a chance.  
  
But where would he go after he left here? 


	5. Chapter 4

The Past Never Dies Quietly  
  
By Didi  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters and don't know anyone that does. Suing me will probably get you the 38 cents in my pocket now and nothing more than that.  
  
Summary: Tasha takes steps to confirm a rumor.  
  
Note: Okay, I knew that it was a bad idea to start a new fan fiction when there are other ones that I haven't finished yet. Can't devote enough time to any one exclusively. (sigh)  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Chapter Four  
  
"Oh come on, Quick. You have to know where she went!" Val exclaimed with mock exasperation. "You're like her best friend."  
  
"For the last time, Val. Tasha did not tell me where she was going to go." Quick shook his head and continued to beat the punching bag with frustration. Four days without a word. Granted he expected to be at least a week before he so much as get a hint of what may go down but still…  
  
"Quick," Johnny placed that printout on the table and studied his friend for a moment. "Kay printed out the details of security route for you. You want to go over them with Nikki now?"  
  
"In a minute," Quick gave the bag another shove to get it going before taking a hard swing at it as it came back to him. "Tell Nikki that we are not going to put down landmines on the lawn."  
  
Johnny grinned. "She's going to be disappointed. Hey Val, what's up?"  
  
"Quick won't tell me where Tasha went on vacation," Val pouted and stomped her six inch heels. "Oh come on Quick, I just want to send some champagne and strawberries with those yummy whipped cream. She should have something like that if she's really on vacation."  
  
Frowning, Johnny crossed his arms and leaned against the table. "You doubt her, Val?"  
  
"Oh come on," Val exclaimed annoyed. "This is Tasha we're talking about here. Her idea of a vacation is spending three weeks hunting in the backwoods of Canada."  
  
Both men stared.  
  
"What?" She shrugged. "I found her Guns and Ammo magazine."  
  
Shaking his head, Quick unwrap the bandages around his knuckles. "Look Val, Tasha is a big girl. She hardly needs to report to anyone on her actions. She said she went on vacation, so let's just assume that even Tasha needs a little down time every once in a while so that she doesn't lose her mind."  
  
"You mean she hasn't already?"  
  
"Val!" Quick said warningly.  
  
"Okay, okay, no more questions." Val backed off with her hand in the air. After a few minutes of watching Quick remove the protective gears from his hand. "Hum… Maybe Kay can track her by computer," then she was off with the clicking of her heels following.  
  
Johnny grinned at Val's back before turning to Quick. "Should we be worried that Tasha suddenly took personal time?"  
  
Quick gave him a brief look before turning to the computer print out. "We'll know soon enough."  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
The old church has changed very little over the past seven years. It was slightly more worn down than it had been the last time she saw it but it was basically the same. The pews were had the same scratches, the red candles still sat on the far western walls and the confessional booth was still ornately decorated.  
  
She paused briefly at the confessional doors, not sure if Father Jensen was still around. But after a moment, she opened the door and stepped.  
  
There was silence for some time before another body slides into the booth with her and the iron grid filter through light to reveal the silhouette of the priest.  
  
Swallowing her pride, she leaned forward. "Bless me Father for I have sinned." Her Russian was rusty but passable.  
  
"Tell me what you have done, my child." The voice was still the same after all these years. The smooth velvet edged tone calmed what fears that she held that he might not have been there to help.  
  
Sure of the identity behind the screen, she reverted to English once more. "Father Jensen? Father David Jensen of Buffalo, New York?"  
  
There was a long pause. "Tasha?"  
  
"Yes, Father." She touched the grid with her hand and breathed a sigh of relief. "You don't know how glad I am to hear your voice."  
  
She could almost hear him smile. "I can only imagine. What can I do for you? Or do I even need to ask?"  
  
"Peter."  
  
He nodded. "I thought that was why you'd be here after all this time."  
  
"So he was here?"  
  
"The morning after."  
  
"Did you take him in?" She held her breath and for the first time in a long time, she prayed.  
  
"No," he sighed with regret. "The winter was harsh, we were filled beyond capacity. I could not put him in the common room, too many people would see. I offered my cell for his recovery but he…"  
  
"Has too much pride for that," Tasha leaned her forehead against the grid. It had been too much hope that he would be logical about things. And too much hope that he would make this easy for her. "Do you know where he went?"  
  
"No, I'm sorry."  
  
"At least I know he was alive afterwards." She smiled against the darkness. "Thank you for that."  
  
"I wish I could have been more help to him."  
  
"As do I," she picked up her backpack and prepared to leave. "Thank you for your time."  
  
"Tasha?"  
  
"Yes?" pausing with her hand on the door of the confessional.  
  
"He would have gone somewhere he felt safe, just as he did when he came here. But he is alone, prepare yourself for the worse."  
  
Tasha didn't know what to say, only that she knew in her heart that he wasn't gone yet. She had to keep that hope alive. "Peter is a survivor, it'll take more than a little bomb to take him from this world."  
  
"I will pray for that."  
  
"Thank you again, Father."  
  
"Please do tell me how this will all turn out. I'm eager and anxious to see that he is all right."  
  
Tasha hesitated. Long years of practice made her unwilling to promise to anything she can't be sure of. "I'll send word but I can't promise you anything."  
  
"You never do. Thank you, my child."  
  
"Good day, Father." 


	6. Chapter 5

The Past Never Dies Quietly By Didi  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters and don't know anyone that does. Suing me will probably get you the 38 cents in my pocket now and nothing more than that. Summary: Tasha takes steps to confirm a rumor. Note: Okay, I knew that it was a bad idea to start a new fan fiction when there are other ones that I haven't finished yet. Can't devote enough time to any one exclusively. (sigh)  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Chapter Five  
  
"And she hasn't even called?" Nikki asked, oiling her fine precision gun to extreme conditions. It was never wise to allow your gun to go un- maintained or unused.  
  
"This is Tasha we're talking about here," Johnny pointed out with a grin.  
  
"True," Nikki conceded and glanced over at the pacing Quick. "What's up man? Not exactly like to you worry about Wonder Woman Tasha. It's not she can't take down an army all on her own or anything like that."  
  
Quick waved it away, "Worried about Val causing an international incident by suggesting to Prime Minister of Argentina that he paint his capital in hot pink."  
  
Johnny and Nikki gave quick laughs but soon realize that the semi cheerful façade Quick was quick to hide his true self behind was fading once more. "What is, my man?" Johnny asked, watching the frown settle itself over Quick's features once more. "And don't tell us nothing."  
  
Had it not been for the disquiet feeling that he's been getting for several days now, he probably would have kept his mouth closed. "Tasha went on a mission of some sort. Wouldn't tell me what or want the help from the rest of the team. Said she'd handle it on her own and that it was personal but would call if she needed anything."  
  
"And has she?" Nikki asked, her dark Italian eyes narrowing with concern.  
  
"Silent as tomb."  
  
Johnny made a face. "Bad analogy."  
  
Quick shrugged. "Sorry."  
  
"Do we have any clue as to what she was working on?" Nikki asked, already reaching for her phone. Tasha has been like a big sister to her for many years now. She'd blow up just about anything for that girl. And she'd even call in a few markers with 'The Family' for her if need be.  
  
"No," Quick shook his head. "But I've got a feeling this has her ex- husband written all over it."  
  
Nikki rolled her eyes. "Which one?"  
  
"Good question." Johnny shook his head and picked up his cell phone. "Let me see if the FBI has anything first. We'll move from there."  
  
"Grandpa is sure to have someone in the various parts of the earth that has some information," Nikki began to dial.  
  
Maybe it was because he was no longer burdened with Tasha's uncertain safety, or maybe it was the lousy hotdog Johnny had made for lunch finally passing, but Quick felt infinitely better now that the others were helping to track down their illusive friend.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
It smelled like death warmed over. Tasha waved one hand over her nose and tried not to gag as she moved slowly over the corpse of a fallen tree as silently as possible. Slipping her hand into the back pocket of her black jeans, she pulled the silencer out and screwed it to the barrel of her 9mm.  
  
She was deeply glad that she had changed out of her the fashionable heeled boots and into some military issue combat shoes before leaving her hotel room again. The large parka was cumbersome to move it but necessary in this subzero temperature. The thin leather gloves made gripping the gun difficult but it was better than allowing her fingers to contract frost bite.  
  
The mini mag-lite did little to illuminate the dark tunnel that had once been the heart of one of the most productive coal mines on the eastern hemisphere. But like much of Russia's industrial efforts, this one was laid to waste when the cold war ravaged the land of all things precious, leaving a hollow shell where life once thrived.  
  
Licking her lips, she wished she had remembered to bring chapstick with her when she packed, but little things like personal comfort were not foremost in her mind at the time. Taking a left at the fork, she searched her mind for the right combinations of turns to make before she was hopelessly lost in the labyrinth of mining shafts. "Left, right, left, left, straight down three levels then left once more before right," the murmuring was likely to draw attention to any none hibernating animals seeking shelter in these tunnels but it made her feel better to remember the way.  
  
Peter had once said that the tunnels were all that was left of his family's legacy. What that had meant, she wasn't sure. But he had brought her here several times during their brief first marriage and several more time after the second try at the alter. For some reason, he always seemed happy to be in these smelly caverns where each breath drawn meant inhaling a lung full of coal dust.  
  
She had to tuck the gun away as she came to the pulley shaft that had once carried thousands of dollars' worth of nature's most natural fuel. The cable looked fairly steady and too new to have been there for long. The fine dusting of coal dust did not disguise the modern cable rope any. Plus, the stops of blood that lined the rope did not help any either.  
  
The sight of the dry burgundy spots made her shudder. Taking a deep breath, she grabbed the rope and began the slow descent that she'd done many times before. Gripping the mag-lite with her teeth, she climbed hand over hand down until she reached the second level.  
  
For anyone that had never been into these maze-like mines, the danger of suffocation and starvation was very likely. Slipping her gun from behind her, she moved slowly, watching for the fork that would take her left.  
  
She came to the fork and stopped, glancing down at the swirl of dust on the ground. She traced her hand in the pattern for a moment. "He fell down here, hands and knees on the ground." She could almost see him panting for breath. "Then got up with a little help from the wall." She reached out and saw a faint marking on the wall where his bloodied hand had touched. "And continued forward." She shook her head. "You always were so incredibly stubborn."  
  
Putting the gun away, she moved won the tunnel without must surprise as it led to a large cavern more than tall enough for her five feet ten inch frame. Being greeted by the cocked and readied gun shocked her less than if she hadn't been met by it.  
  
"Hello, love," Peter grasped out, lowing the barrel of the semi-automatic. "About time you got here."  
  
~~~~~~  
  
TBC. 


	7. Chapter 6

The Past Never Dies Quietly By Didi  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters and don't know anyone that does. Suing me will probably get you the 23 cents stamp in my pocket now and nothing more than that. Summary: Tasha takes steps to confirm a rumor. Note: Okay, I knew that it was a bad idea to start a new fan fiction when there are other ones that I haven't finished yet. Can't devote enough time to any one exclusively. (sigh)  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Chapter Six  
  
"Hey, why is everyone still doing here?" Val asked as her six inches heels proceeded her. Her hot pink boa trailed after her, picking up dusts, paperclips and the occasional dropped shells that Nikki is forever loosing. "We have a benefit to go to. What do you think?" Her silver foil dress clung to ever curve and line on her body. "Do I look hot or what?"  
  
Johnny gave her a cursory glance then nodded. "Certainly will give the environmentalists something to talk about."  
  
"Green camaflogue was never my color," she grinned than frowned at the array of ammo that Nikki was laying out on the table. "Hey Nik, Bobby was just kidding when he said that he wanted to blow up some industrialist machines up north. Really!"  
  
"These aren't for him," Nikki glanced up as Quick bought over the oversized black bag. "You don't expect me fit all this in that puny little thing, do you?"  
  
Quick ignored her attempt at lightheartedness. With Johnny and Nikki's connections confirming that Tasha had taken the concord to Russia in a hush- hush mission, his gut feeling was that something had not gone right, especially when no one has heard from her in so long, not that they were actually expecting her to check in like a good little girl. "This isn't for you."  
  
"Whoa there," Val clattered over to them. "Hey, why are you all looking like you're going to war here?"  
  
"I need some personal time," Nikki announced then pulled the black case from under the table out and began to load the various machines of death into it. "All the specs for the next two benefits have been covered. I've asked Ovanspour's security to cover the installation. We're covered there so I'm going to take off for a few days."  
  
"And I've asked Relic to take care of security backup for Ovanspour's people. But I don't expect there to be anything special," Quick snapped the case shut and searched himself for the amount of hardware he was carrying. Realizing that he never replaced the extra clips from their last hair-raising assignment, he went to the storage room.  
  
Johnny grinned as he inclined his head toward Val. "I was never part of these, so I'm not putting my two cents in now. So, since I'm not part of this, I'm going to take a few personal days as well."  
  
Val's eyes lit up as she nudged Nikki with her elbow. "You and Johnny going away on a little 'holiday,' girl?"  
  
Nikki's head snapped up ad she blushed before she could help herself. "VAL!"  
  
Johnny rolled his eyes but seemed completely unfazed by Val's innuendos.  
  
"We are not going away together," Nikki protest quickly and continued to load the bag. She paused for a moment over the time-delay charges before deciding that you can never be too careful. "We are just both taking some personal time. No one said that we were doing it to each other."  
  
"So you guys just decided to take the time off at the same time," Val nodded her head wisely. "Right, and muumuus are in fashion." She rolled her eyes but grinned with delight. "Well, have fun on your 'separate' time off and don't forget to bring presents when you come back. I'm off to the benefit. Quick, you coming?"  
  
Quick slipped the three clips in their various compartments. "No, I'm going away for a few days. Hold down the fort, will you. Tell Kay I can be reached through the usual channels but don't call unless it is a life or death situation, and even then go to Donovan first." He glanced at the clock. Plane was to leave in an hour. "See you later, Val."  
  
"Wait a minute, wait!" Val hurried after him as he left the4 office's main area. "You're leaving too?"  
  
"I've got a friend that needs me."  
  
Val frowned at him, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. "Is your friend a certain tall, grouchy, gun-happy woman with more husbands than Pamela Anderson had plastic surgery?"  
  
Quick declined to comment as he reached the elevator and waited. Johnny and Nikki caught up with them by then and were doing their best to avoid Valerie Iron's questions.  
  
"Quick." Val started again when the door dinged, announcing the arrival of the elevator. "Wait a minute.."  
  
"Have fun a the benefit, Val." Nikki grinned and stepped in pulling the black hard case behind her.  
  
"I'll be back in a few days," Johnny touched her arm and inclined his head. "Take care and I'll bring back something for you."  
  
"Try not to cause any incidents that we need to clean up," Quick warned.  
  
"I do not..hey!" as the door closed on her still protesting loudly.  
  
Johnny leaned his head back against the walls of the elevator. "How did you get your grandfather to lend us the jet?"  
  
Nikki smiled grimly. "I asked." Don Franco has yet learned to say no to his favorite granddaughter, especially faced with her obvious distress. He had eagerly turned over everything she needed, enjoying the brief moments with her. Nikki made a mental note to thank him at a later date.  
  
Quick nodded his head. "Then let's go to Russia."  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
The Owl, man of many face, grimaced as Tasha slowly peeled back the bloody mess his shirt had become over the last three days. The one that he had worn in the explosion had long since been tossed away. "How did you find me, anyways?"  
  
"I was married to you remember? Twice." She forced herself not to wince at the sight of the raw wounds.  
  
"How can I forget?" he swallowed the groan of pain as the scabs was peeled away. "But that still doesn't answer my." he hissed as fresh blood poured from the dozens of cuts and scratches that covered his chest.  
  
Tasha grabbed the clean gauze and pressed it to the wounds as best she can. "You need to get to a hospital."  
  
"They'd be watching for it," he opened his eyes slowly as the pain receded. "Did you watch yourself?"  
  
"No one follows me unless I want them to," her brown eyes narrowed on a long gash too neat to have been from flying debris. "Knife?"  
  
Peter made a face and sighed. "I underestimated Pietro Rumduska and his pretty faced lover. They are quite a deadly pair."  
  
"Caught off guard?" she raised a brow and pulled the gauze away, glad to see the blood flow had stopped and clotted nicely. Searching through the backpack she had carried, she could the butterfly bandages. Peeling them, she began to apply them evenly on the wound to help close the gash.  
  
Watching her at work, the Owl smiled. Her gentle touch was not lost to him as she examined him for more of the deeper cuts. "You should have been a nurse."  
  
Shifted her eyes up to him for a moment, she slapped a bandage over a nasty raw area. He must have been dragged across the floor of the old plant during the blast.  
  
"Ouch," he squeezed his eyes shut. "I take it back."  
  
"You should have gone to a clinic at least," she said quietly, pulled the shirt from the shoulder so she could see his back. It was ever bit as bad as the front but more healed. "You could have bled to death here."  
  
"Father Jensen took care most of the worse ones," he grunted as she cleaned some of the raw areas. "And gave me some supplies to keep me alive."  
  
"You left a pretty messy trail up there," she commented as she finished the back. "Take off your pants."  
  
For a moment, amusement flashed in the Owl's eyes. "Why Tasha!" The annoyed grunt from her stopped him. "All right, I'll behave." His legs were fairly free from wounds except for the expected scraps, scratches and cuts. "I didn't have much of choice up there. I was too tired to stand much less clean up after myself. I figure not enough people remember this place to make much of a difference. By the way, you still have yet to answer my earlier question. How did you find me?"  
  
"I followed the usual path. I knew where you might go and started out there after I figured out that you made it through the blast with your head still on your shoulder." She sat back on her hunch and sighed. "For a moment there.."  
  
Peter smiled and reached out to touch her cheek. "I didn't know that you still cared."  
  
Tasha watched him for a moment. "I. I don't. I'm here on official U.S. business. To make sure one of their informs aren't dead in the gutter somewhere."  
  
He tilted his head, eyes revealing his disbelief. "How did you even know about my being involved in this whole thing? I thought you were out of the spy business."  
  
"I." she shook her head, hating that Peter was one of the few people that can make her lose her composure. "David told me."  
  
Shutters came down over his eyes. "I thought you divorced him long ago."  
  
For a moment, she watched him. Puzzled by his reaction, she treaded cautiously. "I did. But it doesn't mean I've cut off all communications from him." Something clicked in her mind. "Why? Why would you care?"  
  
Something flickered in his blue eyes. "I don't."  
  
She grinned suddenly. "Are you jealous, Peter?"  
  
He said nothing, looking at the bag. "Anything to eat in here? I've been living on your horrible American jerky and little juice bottles."  
  
Letting his reaction got for now, she searched through the back and pulled an apple and sandwich out for him. He took them eagerly and thanked her with a nod of his head. "As I was saying," pulling a bottle of water out and took a quick sip. "David came to me with the information. The Owl has been enough of help in the past for them to want to keep you around as long as they can. He came with a special assignment to decipher whether you were alive or dead. You know too much for certain people to not know of your condition."  
  
"It's nice to know that I have friends around," he smiled and ran a quick hand through his much-need-of-a-wash hair. "Why you?"  
  
"Cause I was married to you," she answered calmly, her eyes diverted by the nice array of weapons laying about him. "You were careful to plan this as your hide away."  
  
"You can never be sure of anything," he wiped his hands on the napkin she handed him and sighed with satisfaction, first real food he's had in nearly a week.  
  
"You well enough to get moving?"  
  
"Where are we going?" he asked, as he allowed himself to be helped to his feet.  
  
Tasha looked at him as if he suddenly turned dense on her. "The U.S." 


	8. Chapter 7

The Past Never Dies Quietly By Didi  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters and don't know anyone that does. Suing me will probably get you the 23 cents stamp in my pocket now and nothing more than that. Summary: Tasha takes steps to confirm a rumor. Note: Okay, I knew that it was a bad idea to start a new fan fiction when there are other ones that I haven't finished yet. Can't devote enough time to any one exclusively. (sigh)  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Chapter Seven  
  
"Tasha," Peter groaned as he hauled himself to his feet, his body screaming in protest the entire time. "There is no way you are going to get me past customs in my condition. Even if I can get my hand on some latex right now, we still can't do it."  
  
"Yee have little faith," she muttered as she looped her arm around him. "And we're not leaving by the way of the Russian mob connected international flights." She grunted as he stumbled, almost dragging them both back onto the ground. "God you're heavier than you look."  
  
Peter closed his eyes and concentrated on keeping himself upright. "Tasha, this is foolish. I can't let you risk.."  
  
"I'm not leaving you here for Nikolas Stoboisky to find when he realized that you failed." She knew that the Russian mob didn't take failures well. In fact, they didn't take it well at all. Peter had too many people after him right now.  
  
"Who said that I failed?" he asked, tightening his grip on her shoulder.  
  
She turned her head and watched him carefully. "You got the documents?"  
  
"Oh yeah," he nodded his head and sighed. "I have them exactly where I need them to be."  
  
"Peter."  
  
"No, Tasha." He looked her, his eyes serious. "Don't ask me for them."  
  
"How can you." but stopped herself. He was who he was and she had to accept that. "Okay, let's get you out of Russia first and argue about this later."  
  
"And how do you expect to get out of Russia without being seen by all the eyes and ears?"  
  
"By the way of Germany."  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
"Refuel and get ready to take off at any moment's notice," Nikki yelled over the roar of another plane taking off from the Moscow's only airport. "Don't wonder far."  
  
"Yes, Madam." The two copilots knew better than to disobey the "Little Don Franco," as they've taken to nickname Nicole 'Nikki' Louise Marie Charlotte Franco. She was worse than Don Franco when riled.  
  
"And don't talk to anyone," she ordered before jumping down to join her companions. "Okay, let's get going."  
  
Quick and Johnny exchanged glanced before following Nikki toward the terminal. It took them three hours of really bad translations and some serious bribing to get through customs and off in a little taxi with a driver that sounded like he would fit in nicely on the streets of New York.  
  
"We need to find a fairly decent hotel that isn't controlled by any of the big families here," Quick instructed, sure that Tasha would be there as well.  
  
"Vacation?" the driver asked while taking a curve at pace that impressed even Nikki.  
  
"No, we're looking for a friend that may have gotten lost," Quick answered quietly.  
  
Though Quick warned her not to, Nikki pulled out one of the few pictures she had of Tasha. In the photo, the ever stoic Tasha stood by Nikki and Quick for a promotional shot. "Have you seen her?" Leaning over the passenger seat, she stuck the picture under the driver's nose.  
  
The driver gave a low appreciative whistle. "Can't forget a face like that," he grinned and took the picture. "Picked her up three days ago, very hurried she was. Told me to take her to St. Francis's church."  
  
"A church?" Johnny frowned and looked at Quick, who was as puzzled as he. "Where did you pick her up from?"  
  
"From the Red Fire Hotel."  
  
Quick frowned. "Can you take us there as well?"  
  
"The hotel? Now you people want to be finding something a little more elegant. I know a place that will be well worth the."  
  
"No, the church." Quick amended.  
  
"The church?"  
  
"Yeah," Nikki flashed her a smile and pulled the picture back. She flashed Quick a triumphant look before settling back into her seat.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Quick winced painfully as Nikki's rendition of the Russian language boarder lined murder. Glancing at Johnny, he had a good idea that he wasn't the only one that thought so.  
  
"Nikki," Johnny reached out and stopped her just as the young woman looked ready to tear her hair out in frustration. "Please remember that he is a man of the cloth."  
  
"Yeah but how are we ever to find anything out if we can't even."  
  
"English?" the priest asked, eyes wide with relief. He held up one finger, indicating for them to wait there for a moment before rushing off to the confessional. He returned five long minutes later with a man just over fifty with gray hair and smiling blue eyes.  
  
"I'm Father David Jensen, my kind but English challenged companion informs me that you are in need of some assistance." He held his ands together in front of him and smiled in patience.  
  
"English!" Nikki laughed and hugged the man with great excitement. "Oh thank god.. No offense."  
  
"None taken," he nodded his head to the other two. "Now, how can I help you?"  
  
"We're looking for a friend of ours," Quick's hand slipped into his pocket and pulled out a snap shot of Tasha. Her sober brown eyes seemed to challenge anyone to make fun of the photo. "We were told that she was seen her a few days ago."  
  
The Priest frowned as he took the photo in his hand. Studying it for a moment, he looked up at them and shook his head. "I'm sorry, but anything said within the confines of the church are considered privileged and confidential."  
  
"Then you have seen her," Nikki concluded, her eyes wide with delight. "Can you tell us if she's all right?"  
  
"She was in good health when she felt me," he gave them.  
  
Quick's eyes eyed the man for a moment. Sensing that the priest was protecting Tasha, he realized that getting a location was going to be difficult. "I don't suppose you'd be willing to tell us where she went or what she was doing here."  
  
Father David Jensen shook his head. "I'm sorry."  
  
"But we're trying to help her," Nikki confided. "She's got to be in trouble or she would have called by now." She paused, frowning when she saw the priest frown as well. "Okay, that's a lie. She wouldn't call even if she's got one arm falling off and an entire country after her head. But still."  
  
Father David laughed. "That sounds more like the Tasha Vildra that I know."  
  
"Tasha what?" Quick asked, her eyes narrowing suddenly. "That's not her name."  
  
He held up one finger in patience. "It was when I met her. I believe she goes by her maiden name now. Daxter, I believe it was."  
  
"Vildra?" Johnny, silent until now, scratched his chin with his index finger. "So the Owl is involved in this. I guess we should have guess with Tasha in Russia and all. But I don't see her hot footing it over here unless there was something terribly wrong with the Owl."  
  
"She always did have a rather soft spot for that rascal," Nikki grinned. "So let's see what's been happening the past few weeks and why it would interest Tasha enough to come here."  
  
"Be careful," Father David cautioned. "Do not step into something that you are ill prepared to handle."  
  
"Father," Quick gave a quick bow. "We're equip for almost any situation, Tasha taught us that."  
  
They hurried out the church and into the still waiting cab. "Hey, what was that hotel you said you picked up our friend from again?"  
  
So preoccupied with their new discoveries that none of the three saw the gray sedan follow them as they continued from the church to the hotel. 


	9. Chapter 8

The Past Never Dies Quietly By Didi  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters and don't know anyone that does. This is purely for entertainment purposes and sometimes not even that.  
  
Summary: Tasha takes steps to confirm a rumor.  
  
Author's note: Apologies for the delay in updating but I just have so much stuff that needs to be done. Plus my muse has deserted me. (sigh) I blame it on the weather. And that's the story I'm sticking to.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Chapter Eight  
  
"This is where she's staying at?" Nikki's eyes wondered over the grotesquely red carpet and badly imitated Greek pillars. The walls were papered with fancy scrolled designed that have long faded and were in the process of pealing. For someone that have gotten quite use to staying at five star hotels and resorts, this was quite a. unique experience.  
  
"Could be worse," Johnny murmured under his breath as he made no move to approach the front desk. Knowing where he was, he was extra cautious as he scanned the room for anything or anyone that may look. out of place. Than again, being the only Asian in maybe a ten-mile radius, he probably stood out more than anyone he will come across here.  
  
"How?" Quick asked, not liking this whole situation one bit. It was the middle of the afternoon and everything was quiet. Too quiet. Way too quiet.  
  
"Let's check in then check this place out," Nikki suggested as they neared the front desk.  
  
"Sounds like a plan," Johnny agreed. "Suggestion."  
  
"What?" Quick asked and glanced over his shoulders. Two guys in gray suits that was worth a couple of hundred dollars at least had come in. They looked as out of place in this dingy place as Quick felt.  
  
"Get one room, we'll take turns keeping watch," Johnny's eyes were averted but he saw the two newcomer as well.  
  
"Good idea," Nikki commented as she spotted the two men out of the corner of her eyes. Her fingers were itching to reach for her side arms. "Let's just hope the bellhop doesn't think we're up to anything kinky." And went to get the room.  
  
Quick pretended to study a magazine six months old and in Russian, a language he knew nothing about. "Should I be worried that those guys are carrying 44's under their arms?"  
  
"What makes you think they're 44's?" Johnny asked equally causal as he pulled out his palm pilot and sent a quick email to his FBI contact.  
  
"Cause this is Russian and they aren't old schooled enough to carry 38's," Johnny replied as he flipped through the pages, not paying attention to the bright colorful pictures that should have caught his attention but didn't. "And if they aren't mob related, I'd be on next plane out of here before Tasha could toss me in a plane herself."  
  
Johnny nodded, as if to himself and glanced briefly up to make sure Nikki was all right. "We search for Tasha's room first?"  
  
"Yeah, she always puts tooth floss on the door knob. That tells her if anyone has been in her room when she gets back to it," Quick made a mental note to do the same for their own suite. "Everything she has set out will be camouflaged. Don't look for the obvious, look for the norms instead."  
  
Johnny gave him a dry half smile. "This isn't my first time. I know what to do. The problem is all three of us scurrying about the hall ways is going to attract some attention."  
  
"Then we'll leave Nikki in the room and cover a floor each," Quick advised.  
  
"Good." he glanced at the approaching woman. "You tell her."  
  
"Quick," Nikki frowned at him as she neared. "What are you reading?"  
  
Glancing down, Quick finally notice the magazine content and felt his face flush with embarrassment that he didn't think he's felt since his teenage years. The colorful magazine he had so casually picked up could only be the Russian equivalent to American's Penthouse. So much for not drawing attention.  
  
Nikki shook her head and sighed. "Men." Before heading up the stairs.  
  
Johnny laughed silently.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
The phone rang twice before being picked up by a familiar voice. "Hello?"  
  
"It's Tasha, I need medical supplies. We'll be nearing you in ten minutes. Can you make sure no one sees us?"  
  
Father Jensen ran a quick hand through his hair and sighed. Looking around the near empty chapel, he nodded to himself. "Come around the back, I'll have everything ready for you."  
  
"Thank you," she murmured in reply and hung up the phone. Beside her, the Owl was clinching his teeth as the bumps in the road caused the car to rattle along. Every bump and dip caused his body to scream in pain as the hastily patched up wounds broke up once more. "How are you holding up?" she asked without taking her eyes off the road and all the mirrors that showed her whether they were being followed or not.  
  
"I'm doing swell," he managed to say without revealing the kind of agony he was in. "Can you hurry?"  
  
"And get pulled over by someone on Nikolas Stoboisky's payroll?"  
  
"Point taken."  
  
"We're almost there." Reaching over, she pulled the lapel of the spare jacket she had kept in the car away from the shoulder wound. The butterfly bandages weren't doing the job it was suppose to. Fresh blood was seeping from the tear once more. "We need strong bandages."  
  
"These will do for now," he replied quietly, trying force the blackness that threatened him to the back of his mind. "The Father has some pretty impressive supply of medical materials for a man of the cloth."  
  
"Where else are the refugees and poor to go to when they have no money for hospitals? And don't pretend you didn't know that. The other priest may not ask but Jensen knows exactly where some of those things come from," she commented as she watched the white van that had been behind them turn away. For a moment there.. "Peter, does Stoboisky's men know what you look like now?"  
  
"No," he shook his head. "I've been under for some time now. You and Dr. Mobesky are the only ones that know what I look like at the moment. We communicated via electronics. Why?"  
  
"Just curious," she replied, ignoring the slight flare of flattery that he had trusted her to recognize his identity it was so important for him to keep it secret. "So, it's safe to assume that they can walk pass you and not recognize you."  
  
"Yes," he couldn't suppress the wince as the car took a rather large dip. It was as if someone poured aid on his back. "Oh God."  
  
"I thought you didn't believe in God?" she asked lightly but frowned as she spared him a quick glance, noting the glassiness of his eyes. *Any more of this and he'll go into shock.* Slowing the car, she took the next turn more carefully.  
  
"No, don't slow down. You'll look suspicious," he warned and tightened his arms around himself more. "Just get me to Father Jensen's. He will have painkiller for me."  
  
She didn't reply, simply put her foot down on the pedal.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Translated from Russian (Not really, but I don't speak Russian so go with me here.)  
  
"Don Franco?" Nikolas Stoboisky frowned and glanced at the picture one more. *These one-hour photo places are becoming more useful every day. Must make a note to put one under my control.* "What does the Italian mob want here?"  
  
"The dark hair woman is Don Franco's only granddaughter," Ivan replied with his usual stoic expression that always made Nikolas believe the man has no human emotions at all. "She and her companions have checked into the Red Fire Hotel."  
  
"The Red Fire?" he frowned as he picked up his glass of wine. It was early still for alcohol; but these days, it seemed to be the only form of relief he could find from the burning anger he had toward that traitorous bitch of a sister. "Why there?"  
  
"Don't know," Ivan answered slowly. "The hotel is not under anyone's control. It was one of Grota's but since he. passed."  
  
Nikolas waved it away and glanced down at the photo once more. "Extend an invitation to Don Franco's granddaughter for dinner. Let's see what she wants here in Mother Russia. And tell her to leave her bodyguards behind."  
  
Ivan nodded and left.  
  
Studying the picture, Nikolas lightly traced the face curves of the young woman in it. "You certainly are a pretty one, aren't you? How much of you is Don Franco's heir I wonder?"  
  
TBC. 


	10. Chapter 9

The Past Never Dies Quietly By Didi  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters and don't know anyone that does. This is purely for entertainment purposes and sometimes not even that.  
  
Summary: Now the comes the hard part. Getting out of Russia.  
  
Note: I know that I keep trying to finish this at a rate that would not drive people crazy, but I can't seem to do it. Again, I apology for taking so long to update. And thank you for those that have stuck with the story and am reading this.  
  
Author's Note: Thank you to anyone that is still patient enough to be reading this story.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Chapter Nine  
  
Nikki looked up just as the door opened softly, letting in the soft shoed Johnny. He watched her for a moment before glancing over his shoulder. Shutting the door gently, he frowned at her. "What happened?"  
  
It never ceased to surprise Nikki at how perceptive Johnny was sometimes. "Why do you."  
  
"Nikki, I just went through a couple of room looking for signs that no one has been there, since that's the only way to find Tasha, I really don't have the patience to play games with you right now," he sighed tiredly and dropped into a chair. "Now what happened to put that look on your face?"  
  
She frowned and nodded her head, her hand finally leaving the semi auto under the table. She's long learned that there was no talking to Johnny when he's in this kind of mood. There was always this no-nonsense stand about him that she admired. "I got a little visit from the locals while you and Quick were out. By the way, they were quite in distain of your bodyguard skills."  
  
"Excuse me?" popping one eye open to look at her.  
  
Crossing her arms, she smirked. "The Russian mob isn't without their resources even if they are wrong in their assumptions. They think that Don Franco's granddaughter is in Russia on 'Family' business."  
  
Mildly surprised, Johnny smiled. "Well, what are they suppose to think when you arrive in your grandfather's jet, running around town with an apparent agenda. They're so use to looking for hidden motives that they're going to assume there is a hostile take over in the making." The irony of this whole thing was rather amusing. "So what else?"  
  
"I'm invited for dinner at some guy's place, Nikolas something or other."  
  
"You going?" he asked, one brow arched with curiosity.  
  
Nikki frowned, not sure how to respond to that. "I was thinking."  
  
"No," he replied. "Don't even think it."  
  
"You haven't even heard what I had in mind."  
  
Raising one brow, he crossed his arms. "You want to go there and 'subtly' question the Russian mob about Tasha and the Owl in hopes that they can tell us how to locate the pair."  
  
She honestly hated it when he did that whole Zen-Buddha-read-your-mind crap.  
  
Smiling at her, "Now try to get that idea pass Quick."  
  
"Get what pass me?" Quick asked as he came through the door. He was exhausted and had a distinctively bad feeling about this whole situation. "I found Tasha's room."  
  
"Really?" Nikki's face brightened considerably. "Is she." the look he gave her made it pretty obviously what he thought of that question. "Of course not. That would be too easy. And when have things ever been easy for the members of VIP?"  
  
"So what was happening here?" Quick asked, shrugging his jacket off, revealing double sets of guns that were rather intimidating.  
  
"Go on Nikki, tell him," Johnny encouraged mockingly as he sat back awaiting the fireworks.  
  
Looking from Johnny's smug face to Quick's expectant face, Nikki sighed in defeat. "So how to you turn down an invitation to dinner with the mob?"  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
"She said no?" Nikolas asked, his eyes dark and ugly.  
  
"Yes sir," Mikat answered and took a quick swallow.  
  
"And what reasons did she give," he grounded out between clinched teeth. No one said no to him when he wanted something. "What possible reasons could she have of refusing a perfectly civilized invitation?!?" slamming his fist against the table with enough force to crack the fine oak.  
  
Mikat resisted the urge to squirm and cursed the slip of a girl for putting him in this uncomfortable position. "She conveys her apologies but she will be otherwise engaged with other business this evening."  
  
"Business?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
Frowning at him, he looked to the grandfather clock that had been passed down to him since Czar Nicholas I's time. "Find out what business Ms. Franco has that would keep her from my company tonight. And remove the obstacle."  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
"You are a lucky man," Father Jenson commented as he finish binding the free flowing wound on Peter's left side. "This should close nicely if you allow it to. And Tasha."  
  
"Don't say it," Tasha warned as she ran her hand through her hair. Peter had given her a scare when he passed out in the car, two blocks from the church. "We didn't have much of a choice back there."  
  
The good Father shook his head at her. "I was going to say, good job on finding this wayward husband of yours."  
  
"Ex-husband," Tasha replied instinctively as she paced the chamber.  
  
"All right then, ex-husband then." Taping the bandage together with medical tape. "And you have good friends to come all this way for you."  
  
"What friends?" Peter and Tasha asked simultaneously and instantly, both going from steady calm to full soldier alert. "Father?"  
  
Putting his supplies away, "The woman with the large guns that she made no effort to hide from me. The dark man with alert eyes and some training much like yours. And the Asian man that was calmer than he appeared to be. A very strange crowd of friends you have acquired, Tasha."  
  
The Owl frowned, turning to Tasha who stared back at him. "I thought no one knew you were here?"  
  
"No one did, but you seemed to have forgotten the fact that Johnny has contacts in the FBI and Nikki's family isn't without their own sources of information," Tasha sighed, running her hand through her hair once more. "What did you tell him, Father?"  
  
"Not enough to satisfy them obviously," standing back to hear their plans. "What will you do?"  
  
Tasha checked the windows once more, noting that the van she had been concerned about was now gone. "I have to get Peter out of Russia quickly, he is in too much danger here. With no one here that knows his face, we should get pass the boarder if we're lucky."  
  
"Luck isn't going to do you much good if he begins to bleed," Jenson answered with a concern look for his old friend. "Peter lost too much blood already, his wounds need time to mend and you both look like you may need some sleep."  
  
"We'll hit the hotel and hope for the best," Tasha replied, coming to help the Owl stand. "If I know Quick, he's likely to find me soon enough. Meeting up with them may give us more opinions."  
  
Grunting, the Owl shut his eyes to the dizzying pain at his side. The painkillers he had been given have not begun to take effect yet. "It can also attract unnecessary attention. Your companions aren't known for their subtlety. In fact, if my recollection is correct, Ms. Franco's pass time involves blowing things up."  
  
Wincing at the thought of half of Moscow up in flames, Tasha reframed from commenting as to what she thought of his opinions of her friends. "I don't suppose they told you what their plans are?"  
  
Laughing, Father Jenson shook his head at her. "Of course not. But by their determination, I doubt you'll have much trouble finding them. The amount of attention your friends will attract from the ruling families will be felt soon enough."  
  
"And with Nikki pulling strings with her family, which I have no doubt she had to do to find me, Nikolas will be straining at the bit to find out what is happening," frowning, Tasha glanced at Peter for a moment. "You think you can hold on until we get to the hotel?"  
  
"Sure, why?" Peter asked, biting on his tongue to keep from yelling as he moved too sharply and pulled at the already straining wounds.  
  
"Cause Nikki may be our key to getting you safely out of Russia and away from Nikolas Stoboisky's eyes and ears."  
  
"All right," limping slightly as they made for the door together, with Tasha doing a lot of supporting to keep his side immobile. "And what about Natasha Stoboisky and Pietro Rumduska?"  
  
"You think they're still around?" Tasha held the door of the car open and slowly lowered him into the passenger seat as Father Jenson help ease Peter's legs in. "I would have thought that after blowing you up, they would have hightailed it out of Russia. I hear that Nikolas and Natasha have a real love/hate sibling loyalty."  
  
"Emphasis on the hate," Peter closed his eyes and leaned back into the seat. Taking a deep breath, he allowed Father Jenson to check his side again for any fresh bleeding. "And yes, one would assume that they would have left Moscow and Mother Russia by now. But then, one never knows. After all, I did take some very important docments from them."  
  
"True," smiling as Father Jenson straightened. "Thank you, Father Jenson. For everything."  
  
"Always happen to help," shaking her hand. "You be careful."  
  
"I'll send you some M&M's when we get to the states," she said coming around the car.  
  
"I could always use more of those," he waved them off. "God be with you both."  
  
"God and a lot of luck," Tasha muttered under her breath as she pulled away from the old church. "Let's hope Natasha and her boyfriend blew you up out of principle and not out of some personal hatred."  
  
"If only I were that lucky." 


	11. Chapter 10

The Past Never Dies Quietly By Didi  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters and don't know anyone that does. This is purely for entertainment purposes and sometimes not even that.  
  
Summary: Friends coming to the rescue, aren't always necessarily helpful .  
  
Note: This story is moving so slow, even I'm falling asleep here. So very sorry for the long delays between chapters. But the good news is this story is almost over. And with any luck, the light at the end of the tunnel will motivate me to write with greater speed.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Chapter Ten  
  
"Are you all right?" she asked in a soft murmur, eyes still scanning the thinning streets as the day drew longer and the nippy winds of the Russian winter created frost on the windshields.  
  
"I've had better days," he muttered back, taking in deep breaths to relieve the tension across his back. The ride from the church had been uneventful but filled with potholes that jarred every bone in his body and making him ache with pain. He only wanted to lay down somewhere warm and just sleep off the last week. Opening his eyes, he stared at the graying building with its crooked sign and half broken vacancy sign in English. It was too awful to look at. Sighing, he leaned his head back and closed his eyes once more. "You took a room here?"  
  
"Can you name another not under the control of the underground?" she glanced at the front door, and the pair of darkly dressed men that were guarding it. "Anything unusual about that to you?" pointing to the human door ends.  
  
The Owl made a considerable effort to open his eyes again and study the pair critically. He groaned at the sight of them and wished he had kept his eyes shut. He must have angered some ancient god above. "Nikolas Stoboisky's men. Saw them when I was checking Stoboisky's story out."  
  
She turned to stare at him. "You don't trust anyone, do you?" she asked, hand slipping down to the ready gun by her side.  
  
"I trust you," he replied, reaching under the passenger seat for the gun he kept there so as not to attract any unwanted attention. The last thing he needed now was for someone to announce his resurrection to Stoboisky before he's had sufficient chance to prepare for the coming onslaught.  
  
"Do you?" she asked, glancing at her ex-husband with disbelief. One of the reasons Peter was such a good spy and mercenary was because he had made a life habit of never trusting anyone in his life. It kept him alive longer than any of the operatives that he had once been associated with.  
  
The complete calmness in his tone as he replied, "Yes," was quite sobering to the always-cynical Tasha. The unwavering trust she saw there was unnerving. While she did understood that her relationship with Peter was an unique one, she always assumed that when push came to shove, Peter will always look toward his number one concern: himself. But there was something in the way he held her gaze, something that told her that if the choice were there, it'd be her life that he would look toward first.  
  
Not wanting to dwell on those unsettling thoughts, she glanced at the new threat once more. "Any ideas how we're going to get pass those." just then, two more men moved out of the building and headed toward an unmarked black car. All four piled in and drove away without so much as glancing their way. "Well, that was easy."  
  
"Too easy," Peter replied, his head turned just enough to watch the rapidly disappearing taillights. Facing his ex-wife once more, he shook his head knowingly. "Much too easy."  
  
"And we don't have that kind of luck," she murmured with a sigh. "Well, since we can't stay here all day, let's get inside and figure out what the hell is going on."  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Barely glancing at the note tacked to her door, Tasha yanked it off and handed it to the Owl without a word. She made a disgruntled sound in the back of her throat.  
  
Peter frowned. "'Red Rover, Red Rover, bring the Big T over.' Do I dare ask what that means?" glancing sideways at Tasha.  
  
"It means that Quick has been here," walking into the room with the same caution she'd take were she to rush into enemy territory. The room was empty, not a disturbance to be seen. "I won't be surprised if they're staying right in this hotel."  
  
"Not very subtle, are they?" he asked with a grin before turning to shut the door. His body protested the irregular movement and he groaned as he grabbed the wall for support. His ribs felt like hell. Pressing a hand to his side, he made his way to the bed and tried to will the pain away.  
  
The frown that creased her brows did not distract from any of her beauty as Tasha knelt in front of her favorite ex-husband and try to ease his jacket off. Until now, it had been a good addition for both warmth and to hide the ripped shirt where Father Jensen had to cut away to get to the wounds. Now, with his face twisted in pain, it was a hindrance. "Let me see," tugging gently at the hand that was probably doing more damage then good.  
  
Taking a deep breath, he carefully released his hand from his side and clutched the edge of the bed, knuckles turning white in an effort not to double over again as Tasha probed gently.  
  
Easing the jacket way, she could away see the fresh blood seeping through the white dressing. "It's open again," turning to her suitcase where her emergency supplies were. The wound was raw and ugly; the worse thing was it was bleeding. "We're going to sew it up if we want it to stay close long enough to get you out of Russia undetected."  
  
He grunted and made no effort to stop her as she returned with her first aid kit that resembled more cosmetic kit than medical kit. "Must we do this? I don't even have a bottle of vodka to ease the pain."  
  
"If I had some, I'd give it to you. It would probably chase any infection away as well." She pulled open the sawing kit and threaded the needle. Opening the top of a bottle of hairspray, "This is a topical anesthetic, should help some." The cold mist of medicine made him jerk in reaction. She opened her toothbrush kit and held the case to his mouth. "Bite."  
  
Peter glanced at the plastic for a moment then accepted it into his mouth. He felt her warm lips against his cheek before the first sting of the needle hit him. Clamping down on the hard surface of the case, he half prayed for a miracle and half hoped that the plastic didn't cut him when he crushed it with his teeth.  
  
Putting six neat even stitches into his skin, Tasha swallowed the sickening feeling at the bad of her throat and smiled up at him as she snipped the thread. "All done," and took the toothbrush case from his mouth.  
  
He reached for her just as she was about to pull away, crushing his mouth against hers. For a moment, the pain eased, giving away to something beautifully sweet and wonderful. When he came up for air again, "I needed something for the pain."  
  
She stared at him for a full minute before leaning forward and dropping a kiss on each corner of his mouth. "Next time, ask." Then pulled away. Walking to the closet, she pulled out a neatly pressed white silk blouse. Without a thought to the hundred dollars she paid for the garment, she rendered it into neat thin stripes for bandages. "This should do nicely."  
  
"I'll buy you another first chance I get," he replied with a smile as she wrapped the silk around him. "You smell wonderful, even covered in my blood."  
  
Tasha could feel herself weakening toward him. The damn bastard hasn't lost any of his charms even as weak as he was right now. "You need to rest, rebuild some of that strength of yours. We may need a to make a quick run for it."  
  
"I shall be fine," he murmured, as she tied off the bandage. "Tasha."  
  
"I need to go find the others," she said, getting up slowly.  
  
"Wait," pulling her toward him again, wondering if he had enough strength to finish all this. Drawing her to the seat next to his, "I wanted to thank you."  
  
"Don't," she stopped him cold with a shake of her head. "I'm just doing what I need to."  
  
"But you didn't have to and."  
  
"Sure I did," she replied, pushing him gently on the shoulders. "Get in bed."  
  
Peter couldn't help the look of amusement that crossed his face.  
  
"No, I'm getting in with you," she admonished with a frown. "Will you for just a few moments be serious here?" Tucking him in, "I need to go talk to Nikki and find out how much Stoboisky's people know and how they got here in the first place. If the others have a quick and easy way out, we may find this a whole lot easier than expected. But if they don't."  
  
Peter sighed. A part of him wanted to go with her, if simply to watch her back. But his head felt three times heavier than it had only three minutes ago. His body was beginning to protest that treatment its been getting lately. It was wiser to stay and regain some strength. "Ask Nikki to leave some of Moscow in tact."  
  
She almost grinned. "I'll do my best."  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
"But what did they say?" Tasha asked again, running a quick hand through her hair, a nervous gesture that she had thought was long gone. It would take Peter to bring back a little thing like that.  
  
"That this Nikolas guy wants to have dinner with me," Nikki explained once more, not sure she liked the way Tasha was freaking out over a little nothing. "What's the big deal?"  
  
"Normally it wouldn't be so bad," Tasha admitted with a sigh, silently thanking Quick as her friend handed her a glass of water. But this is Stoboisky we're talking about. He makes Hitler look like Little Miss Muffet. No way in hell he take no for an answer."  
  
"So what's he going to do about it?" Johnny asked in that calm quiet voice of his, doing wonders for Tasha's frazzled nerves.  
  
"My guess, he'll dig deeper. And sooner or later, he's going to find out that you and I work together and that I was once married to a certain someone."  
  
Quick nodded his head slowly, watching Tasha with his cool detective eyes. He hadn't been the least bit surprised at her sudden appearance ten minutes ago. First thing she did was knock him upside the head for leaving the note. Second thing was to hug him tight and grudgingly thank them for coming after her. Then promptly lost her temper when she found out what had happened. "Okay, this is your game Tasha. What do you want us to do?"  
  
Standing at the window, just beyond the light, she watched near empty streets below. "There's a plane waiting just outside the city?"  
  
"Fully loaded, fueled and ready to take off at my mark," Nikki announced, glancing at Johnny who merely shook his head to her silent answer. None of them had any idea as to what was going on. So far, Tasha had failed to disclose anything. "Just give the word, Sister; we're at your disposal."  
  
"Not that simple," she muttered, eyes narrowing as she watched two shadows move in the alley across the street. Someone was watching the hotel and making no secret of it. Peter was right, Nikki wouldn't know the word subtle if it came up and bit her in the ass. "Too many eyes now."  
  
"So let's throw them something else to watch," Johnny suggested, coming up slowly behind her. "They don't know about you being here, do they?"  
  
"Doubtful," she answered, searching the streets once more. Where there are one pair, another would be around to. there they are. Sitting in a car, fifty feet from the hotel entrance was an unmarked black sedan with another pair of shadows just hanging about. "I'd be dodging bullets by now if that were the case."  
  
"And your ex?" he asked, not one to beat around the bush. His sole objective was to get Tasha out of Russia and into the relative safety of US territories. "I assume since you're back here and looking for a way out, he's somewhere safe?" his eyes watched her unmoving face. "Your room?"  
  
Nikki gave a soft chuckle of amusement. "I would hope Tasha isn't so careless as to hide someone in plain sight."  
  
"Why not?" Johnny asked, his eyes swinging to the Italian beauty. "What better place than in plain sight, especially for a man of a thousand faces?"  
  
The edge of Tasha's lips curled up. "I'm glad you and I were never on different sides of a war." She patted him gently on the arm. "I've got to get him out without anyone being the wiser."  
  
There was a heavy silence as they contemplated their options. For a moment, no one said a word.  
  
Quick groaned when he realized what Johnny had meant before when he said that they needed something else for them to watch. "No, no, no. It's too dangerous."  
  
"Can you think of a better solution?" Johnny asked, his eyes already searching Nikki's for her opinion to the matter. After all, it was up to her to decide, he certainly didn't like it any better than Quick but he's got a more decisively confidence in Nikki's ability to dish out pain when necessary.  
  
"What?" Nikki's dark eyes widen as everyone else looked at her.  
  
Tasha sighed. As much as she hated the idea, it was the best one they've got. "How do you feel about having dinner with the Russian mob?"  
  
TBC. 


End file.
